The Descent from Heaven
The Greatest Catastrophe in History
The Known—Is Ended
At the beginning all arose， and the Hymn， like a solemn mantle， slowly waved above our heads. Hundreds of tubes of the Musical Tower， and millions of human voices. For a second I forgot everything； I forgot that alarming something at which I-330 had hinted in connection with today"s celebration； I think I even forgot about her. At that moment I was the very same little boy who once wept because of a tiny inkstain on his unif， which no one else could see. Even if nobody else sees that I am covered with black， ineffaceable stains， I know it， don"t I？ I know that there should be no place for a criminal like me among these frank， open faces. What if I should rush forward and shout out everything about myself all at once！ The end might follow. Let it happen！ At least for a second I would feel myself clear and clean and senseless like that innocent blue sky....
All eyes were directed upward； in the pure morning blue， still moist with the tears of night， a small dark spot appeared. Now it was dark， now bathed in the rays of the sun. It was He， descending to us from the sky， He— the new Jehovah—in an aero， He， as wise and as lovingly cruel as the Jehovah of the ancients. Nearer and nearer He came， and higher toward Him were drawn millions of hearts. Already He saw us. And in my mind with Him I looked over everything from the heights： concentric circles of stands marked with dotted blue lines of unifs— like circles of a spiderweb strewn with microscopic suns （the shining badges）. And in the center the wise white spider would soon occupy His place—the Well-Doer clad in white， the Well-Doer who wisely tangled our hands and feet in the salutary net of happiness.
His magnificent descent from the sky was accomplished. The brassy Hymn came to silence； all sat down. At once I perceived that everything was really a very thin spiderweb the threads of which were stretched tense and trembling—and it seemed that in a moment those threads might break and something improbable...
I half-rose and looked around， and I met many lovingly worried eyes which passed from one face to another. I saw someone lifting his hand and almost imperceptibly waving his fingers—he was ****** signs to another. The latter replied with a similar finger sign. And a third....I understood； they were the Guardians. I understood； they were alarmed by something—the spider-web was stretched and trembling. And within me， as if tuned to the same wave-length， within me there was a corresponding quiver.
On the platform a poet was reciting his preelectoral ode. I could not hear a single word； I only felt the rhythmic swing of the hexametric pendulum， and with its every motion I felt how nearer and nearer there was approaching some hour set for... I continued to turn over face after face like pages， but I could not find the one， the only one， I was seeking， the one I needed to find at once， as soon as possible， for one more swing of the pendulum， and...
It was he， certainly it was he！ Below， past the main platform， gliding over the sparkling glass， the ear wings flapped by， the running body gave a reflection of a double-curved S-， like a noose which was rolling toward some of the intricate passages among the stands. S-， I-330，—there is some thread between them. I have always felt some thread between them. I don"t know yet what that thread is， but someday I shall untangle it. I fixed my gaze on him； he was rushing farther away， behind him that invisible thread....There， he stopped...there... I was pierced， twisted together into a knot as if by a light-ning-like， many-volted electric discharge； in my row， not more than 4°from me， S- stopped and bowed. I saw I-330， and beside her the smiling， repellent， Negro-lipped R-13.
My first thought was to rush to her and cry， "Why with him？ Why did you not want...？" But the salutary， invisible spiderweb bound fast my hands and feet； so gritting my teeth， I sat stiff as iron， my gaze fixed upon them. A sharp physical pain at my heart. I remember my thought： "If non-physical causes produce physical pain， then it is clear that..."
I regret that I did not come to any conclusion. I remember only that something about "heart" flashed through my mind； a purely nonsensical ancient expression， "His heart fell into his boots， passed through my head. My heart sank. The hexameter came to an end. It was about to start. What "It"？
The five-minute preelection recess established by custom. The custom-established， pre-electional silence. But this time it was not that pious， really prayer-like silence that it usually was. This time it was like the ancient days when the sky， still untamed， would roar from time to time with its "storms." It was like the "lull before the storm" of the ancient days. The air seemed to be made of transparent， vaporized east iron. You wanted to breathe with your mouth wide open. My hearing， intense to the point of pain， registered from behind a mouse-like， gnawing， worried whisper. Without lifting my eyes I saw those two， I-330 and R-13， side by side， shoulder to shoulder—and on my knees my trembling， foreign， hateful， hairy hands
Everybody was holding a badge with a clock in his hands. One....Two.... Three....Five minutes. From the main platform a cast-iron， slow voice：
"Those in favor shall lift their hands."
If only I dared look straight into his eyes as I always had！ If only I could think devotedly： "Here I am， my whole self！. Take me！" But now I did not dare， I had to make an effort to raise my hand， as if my joints were rusty.
The whisper of millions of hands. Someone"s subdued "Ah，" and I felt something was coming， falling heavily， but I could not understand what it was， and I did not have the strength or courage to take a look
"Those opposed？" ...
